


The Nine Lives of a Legal Ocelot

by Zvarrklingreputation



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: God I hope I finish this, Multi, Time Loop of Sorts, Trans Male Character, but not like. in series time travel time loops. this is a whole different metaphysical beast, content warnings will be posted for each chapter, heed the character death tag wisely the whole premise of this fic is doof dying a whole bunch, not milo murphy's law season 2 compatible, this WILL be a perryshmirtz fic but it will take literally a billion years to get there :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zvarrklingreputation/pseuds/Zvarrklingreputation
Summary: "Ever get the feeling," Heinz said, before taking a drag of his cigarette, "that's like pre-emptive deja vu? Like you're living your life over and over again and that maybe one of these times you'll get it right but it hasn't happened yet? Or is that just a me thing? I feel like it's a me thing.""I think it's a you thing," Charlene replied. "I'd remember if I'd have met you before this."
Relationships: Charlene Doofenshmirtz/Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Heinz Doofenshmirtz & Perry the Platypus, Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Major Monogram
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	The Nine Lives of a Legal Ocelot

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to the Phineas and Ferb fanfic that has been sitting in my brain since roughly 2018 that I was too embarrassed to write. Now that I'm getting to the point where I'm going to school for a serious writing career, I decided now's a better time than ever to start a longfic project before I get to the point where all my creative energy goes toward original fiction.
> 
> I don't know how long this is gonna be, but I do know it'll be as long as it needs to be, if I manage to finish it. I'm hoping for maybe about 40k words, but we'll see.
> 
> Content warning for this first chapter: drowning and child death

The wedding of Greta Zupermühltienatör to Ulrich Doofenshmirtz was not spurred on by love or romance in the slightest. It was a classic case of two young people not thinking about the consequences of their actions. Greta, dressed in a modest but billowy wedding gown designed to hide as much of her six-months-pregnant stomach as possible, walked down the aisle with grim resignation. She was to marry a man who she had previously only seen as a drinking buddy, she would become a poor man’s wife (would they even be able to afford a lawn gnome?), and she would become a mother to an unwanted child at the age of twenty. This was unfortunate, but she supposed it was her own fault anyway.

Ulrich kissed Greta with tongue at the alter. She disliked this. She hated the reception even more, with everyone lustily drinking all the beer she couldn’t have. This is my child’s fault, she thought. Without them, I wouldn’t be living this life.

The child was born three months later, a girl. Greta gave birth alone, and once the act of birthing was completed, she left the baby in disgust. A daughter couldn’t carry on the family name, nor could she grow up to get a job to support the family. When pressed for a name, Greta settled on Irene and took the screaming baby home. Ulrich was unimpressed. “Why is her head shaped like that?” he asked.

“Well, she didn’t get it from me,” Greta muttered.

~

The only observation Greta had about Irene is that she cried much too often. At first, Greta was patient. Newborn babies cry a lot, and the stuffy July air probably felt suffocating to a child that young. However, she never seemed to grow out of it. She cried in the fall when leaves fell on her head, she cried in the winter at the mere presence of cold, she cried in the spring when fed her first doonkelberry pie, and she cried when summer reared its ugly head again. It was best to ignore her. She’d tire herself out eventually.

Irene’s first birthday came and went without acknowledgement. There was nothing to celebrate. Greta’s life had been miserable since her birth, and she certainly didn’t foster good feelings for the squealing brat. Ulrich’s finances shrank as Irene added a third expense to an already-struggling family. There were whispers that the lawn gnome would be repossessed.

Another year passed. July came and went. Irene turned two. Nobody could bring themselves to care. Ulrich gambles and drinks away the family money, a life choice that was not unfamiliar to the people of Gimmelschtump, but was shameful all the same. He won a game of Poke the Goozim With a Stick and acquired a sleek-furred spitzenhound puppy. Greta chided Ulrich for this. “Another mouth to feed! What were you thinking! How will we afford both this and the lawn gnome?”

“He’ll pay for himself! The dog show money he’ll win will make us the richest people in town, just wait!” He leaned in to kiss Greta, who relented. Despite herself, she had begun to feel a fondness for Ulrich that she could almost pretend was a romantic spark. 

And so the family grew again, and Only Son became the pride of the household. Greta often watched Irene try to reckon with the puppy, toddling over and grabbing his fur. Only Son would snap at her face and try his damndest to get away, but Irene was persistent to a fault. Much as Greta disliked her, she admired her willingness to do whatever it took to get what she wanted, even as she failed over and over again.

July again. Only Son was a prizewinning show dog, but none of the money made its way to the Doofenshmirtz household. Budgeting was never Ulrich’s strong suit, and he lost the money betting on Turkish oil wrestling. The lawn gnome collector loomed over the family’s heads.

~

The earliest memory little Irene had was being forced into a whimsical costume complete with a scratchy rope beard. “Now, remember,” her father told her, “Do not move. No matter what happens, do not move. If wood trolls kill us all, you will be to blame, and you will go to Hell when you die. Do you understand me?” 

Irene was too young to have a concept of death, and as such didn’t flinch at these words. “I get to dress up every day?” This was fun!

“Of course. You have the most important job in the family. You keep us safe.”

This rare praise from her father filled Irene’s stomach with happy butterflies. She had a big-girl job! If she had known what it would be like to stand in the blistering sun she would have reconsidered, but for the moment she was happy to be included in the family dynamic.

Standing still was hard. Irene wanted to play with the few toys she had, or run around the yard for fun, but when her father was watching, any twitch of her body would result in a scolding. This wasn’t much fun at all! Suddenly her costume felt less wonderful and more like a terrible obligation. There was no joy in what she did.

(Greta watched from the window in disgust at Ulrich’s superstition. An inconvenience or not, a three-year-old was still a three-year-old, and a garden gnome that sat cross-legged on the ground when she thought nobody was looking was hardly better than having no lawn gnome at all. Plus, she didn’t like the implications of dressing her female daughter up like a male lawn gnome. It felt unnatural to her.)

Nights were the worst. In the cold of November, when the sun set in the afternoon, Irene would have sometimes three hours in the pitch blackness before Greta would convince Ulrich to let her inside. Irene was terrified of the dark, and Only Son’s howling at night only made matters worse. She was sure that a wolf would come and eat her, and sensed that nobody would care. 

~

July again. Irene begged her parents to let her go to the Gimmelschtump Public Wetness Maker for her birthday, as she’d heard the neighbor children talk about all the fun they had there. “Please? I’ll stand extra still when I’m doing my job!” she begged. Greta was against it. She knew that the Wetness Maker’s water was unclean and she worried about brain-eating germs infecting the family. Ulrich, on the other hand, was willing to take her on the pretense of getting to ogle Drusselsteinian maidens in swimwear. The next Thursday the Wetness Maker had water, Irene got her wish.

Irene was overjoyed at the concept of swimming. She jumped into the shallow end of the pool, the water coming up to her mouth. Splashing about and walking in slow motion among the crowds of people in the small pool was enough to keep her occupied, and the cool water was a godsend on the hot summer day. She pretended she was a sea monster looking for her next kill and monkey-crawled deeper into the pool. The novelty of being in water deeper than she was tall was exciting! “Father, look! I’m in the deep water!” Irene called.

“That’s nice,” Ulrich grunted, not taking his eyes off of a young mother in a tight-fitting bathing suit.

“I can go even deeper! Look, I’m almost to the end! I can go to—“ Irene was cut off by a pair of older boys roughhousing. 

“Bet I can push you underwater!” one boy told the other, and he shoved and jostled near the edge. Irene’s legs got caught in the action, and she let go of the side of the pool in shock. She yelped.

“Help! Father, I can’t swim, help me!” Irene managed to gasp before her head went underwater. Instinctively, she tried to tread water, but couldn’t manage to get her head above the surface. Water filled her lungs, and she became more and more desperate. Her head felt light and floaty before she went completely limp. 

Everything went black, but before Irene lost consciousness permanently, she heard a voice say “Oh dear, Heinz, you can do better than that. Let’s try again.”


End file.
